Under Construction Part I
By Robert Burke
Finding www.nifty.org is the probably the only really good thing I'll be bringing out of quarantine. Don't forget to donate - any amount - to keep it going. RB
He wasn't part of the regular crew. I use the term "crew" loosely.
Mostly, it consists of me and two day laborers, Jesus and Mac, who help me out from time to time. We get along well together and I wish I could give them something more regular, but the work goes up and down without much warning.
My boss, Christine, is a partner in a real estate group that buys and refurbishes old apartment buildings and houses around Oakland and Berkeley, and then either flips them or rents them out for whatever the market will bear, which in the Bay Area is usually a lot.
Most of my day is spent sorting out problems with tenants, fixing leaking faucets, or snaking toilets and doing the other odd jobs that come with apartments. But every once in a while Christine and the other partners get a brainstorm about a property and I can find myself in the middle of a three to six month job - 9 to 5 five days a week - with Jesus and Mac.
The latest was a place they'd found at the south end of Lake Merritt. There are a lot of nice, older places around that end of the lake, and a lot of Edwardians, usually squeezed between a couple of really ugly concrete multiple units that give you a snapshot of the worst of sixties architecture.
This place wasn't one of those places.
It might have been at one time, but it had been cut up and remodeled so many times that the only thing I thought made sense would be to burn it down and collect the insurance. But Christine said that the partners wanted to do a complete remodel.
I can always use the money, but a job like this really cuts into the time I'd could be biking or snowboarding or just hanging out. My buddies will all say that no one could ever accuse me of being too ambitious and they're right. I've been lucky; I figured out what I like to do and I do as much of it as I can. The job is what pays the bills. And if I'm just dealing with tenants, I can usually cut out early on a good day.
At 37, I'm still in pretty good shape, just a little under six feet, 170, dirty blond hair that looks like it's never been combed, a small soul patch on my lower lip, and a body that's just beginning to hint at the belly to come. In summer, my hair gets really blond and I usually have the kind of uneven tan that you always get in this work.
But I've already broken most of the smaller bones in one accident or another. And lately I've begun to notice that it's taking a little bit longer each time to heal up and some of the old injuries start aching in cold weather. I don't think that I have much time left for any kind of sports; at least not the way I like to do them. And what time I do have left, I'd just as soon not spend it refurbishing a rat hole that's already falling apart.
Still, Christine's a good boss and knows how I feel. So I could hire on Jesus and Mac for as long as I needed and she said that one of the partner's sons was going to be available for a couple of months as sort of an apprentice cum gofer to earn some money for his college tuition.
That's fine as far as it goes, but inexperienced men can be a mixed bag. You can have them straighten out nails for only so long before you really have to put them to work and that's usually when the trouble starts.
I didn't recognize the last name and asked which partner. She told me and I groaned inwardly. The guy was one of the partners that I never got along with; one of those uptight Republican assholes who thinks he's got it good because he deserves it.
He was on his third wife and it seemed as if this kid, Nathan, was leftover in the settlement with wife #2.
He'd had the kid packed off to a religious boarding school for the last 2 years and, according to Christine, when the kid said he didn't want to get an MBA, his old man told him that he'd have to pay for anything else himself.
It didn't sound promising.
I went down to Fruitvale and tracked down Jesus and Mac and told them the deal. In my broken Spanglish or their broken English -- depending on who's talking and who's listening -- they agreed to it; things were kind of slow and they needed the work; the steadier the better as far as they were concerned.
We drove up to Lester Ave to look at the wreck. I'd ordered a couple of dumpsters because the first order of business was going to be cleaning the place out so we could get to work. When I pulled up in front of the place, there was a guy sitting on the sagging front porch. When I got out of the truck, he stood up and came down the steps.
"You Nathan?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said, almost smiling, "you Blake?"
"That's me. You bring your tools, Nate?"
"Nathan," he said quickly.
Then, looking confused, he added, "Christine just said to show up."
"Don't worry about it."
He was in his late teens, early twenties. Maybe twenty-two at most. Just about my height, slender, looked like he could have been a runner, maybe 155, thin glasses over dark brown eyes. His black hair was short, almost shaved, and had a short beard. I wondered if he trimmed it that short on purpose or if that was all he could grow.
He was wearing a flannel shirt over a thermal undershirt with a few dark hairs curling over the top tucked into a new pair of jeans and a pair of beat up work boots.
I introduced him to Jesus and Mac and told him the game plan was.
He smiled at them and nodded seriously when I said, "Want to get started?"
We didn't talk much that day.
A big part of the fun of doing this kind of work -- and it's a part most of us don't share with our clients or employers -- is that guys in construction love knocking the shit out of stuff.
Jesus and Mac took the basement and Nathan and I took the first floor.
By mid-morning, it was apparent that it was going to be another unseasonably warm day for January in the Bay Area. We hauled out old furniture, tore down cabinets, carried out a couple of broken refrigerators, and, just for fun, I knocked a couple of holes in the wall.
By the time we were ready to break for lunch, I'd worked up a sweat and it was pushing 70 outside. I called Jesus and Mac from the porch. They'd already stripped off their T-shirts, and the sweat was running down the muscles of their smooth dark brown bodies, making a spider web pattern through the dust on their hairless chests and backs.
When the three of us started working together a couple of years ago, I'd find myself, especially in the summer or on days like today, looking at their small compact bodies, their well-muscled chests with large dark nipples, and their nice firm butts, thinking about what it'd be like to be over them or under them some time. Maybe even between them.
I think it could have been a good time.
Once, after a really long day, I took them out for beers at this dive in Fruitvale and we'd all hit the head before leaving. Talking back and forth, standing a few inches back from the urinals, I made a point of checking out their equipment. They were both pretty well hung and uncut with really coarse black hair framing their cocks.
We were laughing and shaking our dicks and joking about how they had a couple of inches on me and something to cover it with. Jesus' foreskin slipped back tightly over the head of his cock when he was done and he zipped up. Mac's was longer, almost a hood, covering the head of his cock and I noticed that he worked it back and forth a couple of times before zipping up.
I say they had a couple of inches on me; for lack of a ruler, I'll give any guy the benefit of the doubt. It's never occurred to me to measure mine -- I'd ballpark it at 6.5", maybe 7", but I'm happy as long as I know it's working. It's got a nice heft even when it isn't hard, a little thick maybe, and a nice symmetry with the shaft tapering down to a cut, well-rounded head and an even light brown ring from where I was circumcised.
But one of the things I've always known from the get-go is that it would be a bad idea to start messing around with anyone on my regular crew. I could easily see myself on my knees in front of Jesus or pounding Mac's butt some night after work, but we'd all have to come back to work the next day and get the job done.
And while I think we communicate pretty well together, it's a limited communication. I like my guys and I wouldn't want either of them to misunderstand and think that doing the boss -- or the boss doing them -- was something they needed to do to keep their jobs.
They both settled down on the steps of the sagging porch and broke out their lunch pails and started speaking in Spanish. From what I could pick up, Jesus was trying to meet a woman he'd seen on International Blvd and Mac was telling him that he was too dark for a "blanchita".
I went back in the house and asked Nathan what he was doing for lunch. I'd worked up a sweat and the pits of my light gray T-shirt had dark circles under them, but I noticed that Nathan was still wearing his flannel shirt and the thermal undershirt, both covered with dust and dirt. Damp spots of sweat made awkward circles on his chest.
"Thought I'd just go get a sandwich somewhere," he answered.
"Well, I'm going down to the taco cart at International. Thought I'd just walk over. It's only about 10 minutes. Want to come?"
He looked at me quizzically for a minute, like it was a trick question.
"Okay," he said finally. "Sounds good."
I took off my tool belt and hung it on the door to the kitchen. The weight of it had dragged the waist of my jeans down. The waistband of my white briefs edged up over the top.
"Let's go then. Jesus and Mac brought their lunches. Christ, aren't you hot in that shirt?"
Judging by his reaction to the question, you would have thought that I'd said his dick was hanging out and dripping. He actually blushed.
"No, I'm fine," he said.
We walked over to the taco stand. I tried to talk him up, ask him about school, whatever, but most of his replies were monosyllabic. I got the feeling he wasn't being rude, just shy. We got our food and ate it walking down to the lake. A breeze was coming off the water and I felt it chill my damp shirt, making my nipples erect. We walked back to the site without talking much, but it felt like he was starting to loosen up. Seemed he wanted to be a sound engineer and was trying to come up with the money to go to some kind of really expensive training school over in Emeryville.
And it turned out he had a nice, sarcastic sense of humor. When we passed a young, overweight guy jogging around the lake without his shirt, he suddenly said, "Why do the people who should keep their clothes on always seem to take them off the first chance they get?"
"Hope," I said, "is a wonderful thing."
The rest of the afternoon was spent tearing out the remains of a bathroom on the first floor. It had probably been a decade since any of the plumbing had really worked and all of the fixtures would need to be replaced anyway. After dismantling the screws on the toilet bowl, we unmounted it and lugged it outside, throwing it in the dumpster on the count of three. Walking back into the house, Nathan asked, "Where's the bathroom?"
I laughed. "In case you haven't noticed, Nathan, that's what we've been tearing apart for the last two hours."
He blushed again. "No, I mean, I need to..."
"Porto-san won't be here until tomorrow, dude. If you just need to take a piss, just use the sink," I said, gesturing to the rust-stained bowl and faucets. I didn't think he could get any redder than he already was, but he did.
"It's either that or use the bushes outside, but keep in mind there's a pre-school down the block. You don't want any little kids walking home and telling their mommies about the man with his pee-pee hanging out in the bushes"
He was looking more uncomfortable by the minute.
"Look, Nathan, it's not that big a deal. I got to piss myself," I said, unzipping my jeans, pulling down my briefs and taking out my cock and balls. I don't have much hair on my chest, but there's a nice trail of blond hair that leads down to a thick bush of darker pubes and while I don't have the biggest balls in the world, they hang pretty low and I don't shave them unless I get bored.
I stood in front of the bowl and let a solid yellow stream go down the sink.
"See? Go ahead. It's just me and you," I said, aware that I was giving my own dick a couple of extra shakes to show off. I noticed he was trying to find something else to look at, but couldn't. He looked really embarrassed, but unzipped the front of his jeans. Looking at me, he didn't say a word. He reminded me of those kids everyone knew in high school who'd wait until everyone else left the locker room before stripping down and suiting up.
I'd always kind of liked those kids.
"Tell you what," I said, "I'll keep a watch on the door; just go ahead and take your time."
I turned my back on him and went out into the kitchen. I caught a look at him in the reflection of one of the dirty windows. He was looking down and pulling his dick out. In a minute, I could hear the piss going down the sink. He was holding his dick with both hands, like a kid. I couldn't get a real look at it but it was swollen enough for me to see that he was circumcised, too. "Okay," he said.
I came back into the room and clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Alright then, let's knock this puppy out."
The days got warmer and I took to wearing my grungiest jeans, with holes in the knees, torn pockets, and a threadbare butt. I wore my oldest T-shirts and usually had pulled it off by the end of the morning and tucked into the back of my jeans before lunch. The first time I did it, I pulled it over my head very slowly. Through the threadbare material, I noticed that Nathan stopped what he was doing and watched me, quickly turning away and going back to whatever he was doing before I pulled it off my head.
But he kept wearing the same flannel shirt and thermal undershirt. It occurred to me that he must wash them every night.
Every day, I'd ask him if he didn't want to take his shirt off and every day he blushed and said he was fine.
On the fourth day, it was close to 80 inside the house by the time we got back from lunch. We'd just gotten in the habit of going down together every day. He'd loosen up a little more each day and then take a step back. Sometimes it was frustrating, but I realized that I was really beginning to enjoy his company and looked forward to seeing him.
Around 3, Jesus came into the back room where we were working and asked me if he and Mac could leave early. Seems that Mac was wrong; the "blanchita" Jesus had been trying to pick up had said that she'd go out with him that night and that she had a friend for Mac. I told him "no hay problema" and said I'd pick them up tomorrow at the usual time.
They left and Nathan and I went back to clearing out the closets that someone had used for storage -- all kinds of storage. It was jammed with boxes, broken kitchen appliances, and half used cans of paint and turpentine.
"That's going to be one lucky "blanchita", I said to Nathan.
"What's a "blanchita"?" he asked, pulling a box out of the closet.
"Light-skinned girl. Every group has a pecking order, Nathan. It's a status thing. Usually a light skinned girl wouldn't hook up with a guy as dark as Jesus, but maybe she figured out he's got a lot more to offer."
"What do you mean?" he asked, wiggling out another box from the stack in the closet and handing it to me. I took the box and tossed it in the corner. I grabbed my crotch and gave it a shake.
"I mean our friend, Jesus, is a solid guy who's got a pretty full package, too."
He turned quickly, but I could see the red creeping up his neck. He bumped into the pile of boxes and knocked the shelf. A half-opened can of paint and turpentine fell off and hit him on the shoulder and the chest. The paint was old latex and just sludge, but left a mauve trail down the arm of his shirt. The turpentine though caught him square in the chest and spilled down the front of his thermal undershirt.
"Fuck!" he exclaimed, jumping back.
It was the first time I'd ever heard him swear, let alone say "fuck".
"Don't worry, it'll come out. Take em off and give em to me. I'll put them in the kitchen sink and soak them. You can wash them when you get home."
"No, that's okay," he said. "I'll be fine; it just stinks."
"It doesn't just stink, Nathan. The paint's no big deal, but the turpentine will burn your skin unless you wash it off. C'mon, take `em off."
He stood there looking at me for a minute.
"Now, Nathan!" I said a little loud.
Just to make the point. He looked so frustrated that I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd started stamping his foot.
He took off his glasses. I reached out my hand and he handed them to me. He pulled off the flannel shirt and passed it over. He reached down and picked up the hem of the thermal T-shirt with both hands and started to pull it up out of his jeans without looking at me. As the shirt pulled up, he arched his back slightly, revealing a flat belly with a single trail of hair running on either side of a thin, pale pink scar that started at his sternum and ran down past his navel into the waistband of his briefs.
"Calvin Klein no less", I said, smiling, as the shirt came over his head.
The scar was interesting, dividing his lightly muscled chest and flat belly in two. He was like me, a single patch of hair on his chest between two dark red extended nipples. His armpits were lightly covered in hair; it was glistening and matted with sweat.
He looked confused at first and then saw that I was looking at his waist.
"They were on sale. I think my mom got them," he said defensively.
"Whatever, dude," I said, taking his shirts into the kitchen.
I put his glasses on the counter and the shirts in the sink and ran water over them, wrung them out, and ran water over them again. I found an old rag that looked fairly clean and soaked it.
When I came back into the room Nathan was on the floor balancing on his haunches, tugging at another box. I stood in the doorway for a minute and noticed the light patch of black hair at the small of his back just above the waistband of his briefs. Without the thermal T-shirt to hold them in place, his jeans had slipped down on his waist, revealing the crack at the top of his butt. I felt myself begin to thicken as I imagined putting my hands down his back and spreading those cheeks.
He reached forward to get a better grip on the box and I noticed again how strong his arms were as the biceps and triceps flexed and relaxed with his movements.
"I brought you this," I said, holding out the wet rag. He turned suddenly, startled, and squinted at me.
"What?' he asked, and I remembered how thick the lenses in his glasses were.
"Wipe that turpentine off your chest, man. It'll burn."
I was standing in front of him now and he started to lose his balance. I caught him by the arm and he straightened himself out, but I kept holding his arm at the bicep.
"Here, let me," I said, and began wiping the rag across his chest. He started to pull away, but I held him tightly, and wiped off his chest and belly almost brusquely. I took another wipe across his chest and rubbed the rag against his nipples. He made a sound like a short grunt, almost a gasp.
I decided to take my time and wiped it across his belly again, watching the muscles ripple, moving all the way down to the waist of his jeans.
"S'okay, man. I'm really sensitive, too," I said, moving the rag up his belly and over his nipples again. "That's why it's important to get it all off."
He made that sound again, somewhere between panic and pleasure.
I let go of his arm and put my hand on his shoulder.
"You okay, Nathan?" I asked, dropping the rag and letting my bare hand move across his belly and slip under the top of his jeans. He started to pull away a little, but it was like he couldn't make up his mind about which way to turn.
I let my hand wander over the top of his jeans and move slowly down to his crotch, not grabbing, just grazing. I smiled to myself, happy to feel that I hadn't been misreading him all this time. I could feel the hard outline of his cock against his jeans. He put his hand on mine, but didn't try to move it. He leaned forward a little and started to say something, but the words got lost between his throat and his mouth.
I leaned over and put my mouth over his right nipple and began to suck on it. My hand squeezed his cock lightly and he jerked, groaning loudly. I wondered if he'd ever had someone else touch his cock before. My mouth moved over to his other nipple and this time I began to bite it gently. He jerked back again, but I covered his nipple with my mouth and began sucking on it. Suddenly, he took a step back and slipped out of my hold.
"Blake, man, I don't know...I never..."
I moved a step forward so that I was right in front of him again, but didn't touch him.
"Never with a guy, Nathan?" I asked. He shook his head.
"Ever?" I asked, putting my hand on his shoulder.
"Never," he said. "With anyone."
That part surprised me. I could almost see getting through high school, maybe even your first year of college, without getting laid, but I was swapping handjobs and blowjobs with my buddies on a regular basis and even had a couple of women by the time I was his age.
I reached out and took his right nipple between my thumb and forefinger and gently began to roll it. I imagined his cock getting harder and wondered if he was leaking. He started to pull away a little, but without much conviction.
"I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't know, dude, but it's okay: no problem." I said softly.
I let go of his nipple and traced the scar on his belly with my forefinger. "What's this all about?" I asked, moving my finger up and down his belly. He moved slightly toward my finger. I let it rest at the top of his jeans.
"Car accident when I was 16," he said. "That's when my dad decided I needed to go away to school. Said I was too careless."
"Looks like it was pretty bad," I said, my finger rubbing the scar gently, my thumb resting on the top button of his jeans.
"Go down much further?" I asked. He nodded, but wouldn't look at me.
"Can I see?" I asked.
He nodded again and I undid the button and pulled his zipper down to half-mast. I pulled out the waistband of his Calvins and looked down. The scar traveled in a straight line down, stopping just above the beginning of his pubic hair. When I opened the waistband a little further, his hard cock swung free and up, the tip glistening with drops of pre-cum that had left a damp stain on his briefs. I felt my mouth go dry and wet at the same time.
I let go of the waistband and put my hand on his belly.
I like sex. I like sex a lot and sometimes I can get into it fast and dirty, just dropping my pants and going at it. Holding another man's cock, another man holding mine. Having him take it into his mouth and letting me thrust and fuck his throat until I grabbed the back of his neck and forced it as far down as his throat as he could take it, making his eyes tear up as I came, pumping hard and then returning the favor. No manual needed.
But there are other guys -- more than most people would assume -- who approach sex tentatively, cautiously. It's something about that helpless moment after they cum, when they know they are at their most vulnerable, that keeps them holding back. It's usually not a big problem to get them to drop their shorts, but that isn't the only thing it's about for me.
What gets me off as much as cumming with another guy -- maybe even more -- is knowing that, in that moment, they trust me. They trust me, I think, in a way no man can trust a woman in a moment like that. With such men, men like Nathan, care has to be taken. Too fast and they just want to get gone. Too slow and they start thinking too much.
I looked at Nathan. His head was bent back, his eyes closed. He looked like he wanted to cry. I put my hand on the small of his back and began rubbing it in a slow circular motion. I let my other hand move down into the space between his jeans and his briefs and cup his cock and balls without squeezing them.
"Nathan," I said. "Look at me."
He shook his head. I let my hand travel up his back to his neck and held it firmly. "Look at me."
He lowered his head and opened his eyes. I saw anticipation and fear moving across them.
"Let's go slow, okay? I'm not going to hurt you, man. You tell me any time you want to stop, alright" I applied a little pressure to his cock and balls. "Can I show you what I like?"
He gave me an almost imperceptible nod.
"Okay, then. Open your mouth a little."
He looked a little surprised, but by that time my mouth was over his, my tongue opening him a little wider. I kept my hand on his neck and on his crotch. In a couple of minutes, my mouth felt his tongue searching it, pushing further in. I kept our mouths together for a long moment while my hand came up from his crotch and began teasing his nipple. I rolled it between my fingers, pinched it gently. He started to buck, but I held him firmly.
I pulled away and kissed him gently across his face, his sweaty neck, and over his ears. After I covered his ear with my tongue, I leaned into him closely and whispered, "I hope you're fixing for a good time, buddy."
I wasn't expecting a coherent response and didn't get one.
But his body seemed to relax and I moved my mouth down his chest, taking in the smell and taste of his sweat, strangely bitter and sweet at the same time, and the lingering odor of the turpentine. I alternated licking him with broad strokes of my tongue and moist kisses in all those places most men aren't used to being kissed, his nipples again, his armpits, licking the tender skin full of hair and sweat.
As I went lower I felt his hand on my head and smiled to myself. I took the zipper of his jeans and brought it all the way down and tugged at the waist until they fell to his knees. I was surprised at how hairy and muscular his thighs were and went down even further, kissing and lightly biting the insides of them, letting my tongue work its way up to the seam of his briefs and began letting it dart in under the seam and around it.
He bent into me as I began sucking on his balls through the damp white cotton and moving my mouth across his hard cock, sucking it through the fabric.
He had both hands on my head now, pushing it into his crotch, and began moaning lowly. I used both hands to hook the waistband of his briefs between my thumbs and forefingers and tugged them down. They caught briefly on his cock, but I gave them one more tug and they were down to his knees.
His cock was really hard and a work of art. It was about the same size as mine, but a little thinner and the head was broad. Precum was dripping off the tip in one thin sticky line. I took the head of his cock in my mouth and wrapped my tongue around it. I heard him say, "Oh, god!" softly above me and then I took it all in down to the hairy base of his shaft.
He bent further over me, never letting go of my head, and began thrusting. I was worried that he might cum too fast -- god knows I did at 22 and I'd had some practice by then -- so I pulled my mouth slowly up to the head again and began sucking his unshaven balls. First one, rolling it around my mouth and tongue, then the other, then both. I used both hands to spread his legs a little further apart and began licking at that space between his balls and his ass.
By now he was almost bent in half over my head, cradling it to his crotch. I pulled back a little and took his cock in my mouth again. I sucked it in long slow motions, up and down, wrapping it in my tongue each time I came up. When I felt him hold my head tighter and start to thrust again, I started sucking him just past the head, wrapping my tongue around the head with each pull.
I don't know what it's called, but I know that whenever a guy is getting ready to shoot, the taste of his precum changes gets a little saltier. Nathan started to taste that way and I slowed down almost imperceptibly, savoring the flavor as his thin hips began to pump my mouth more insistently.
I got the first taste of him at the same time he grabbed my head and my hair and pulled me all the way down. I can take a lot of cock and swallowed his down just past my throat, feeling him spurt one load after another.
He kept thrusting, but loosened his grip on my head a little as he began to spend himself. I pulled up off his cock just to the head and ran my tongue around it one more time before kneeling back on my feet. He convulsed and gave me one last load, his hot cum hitting me on the shoulder and the chest.
I took his cock in my mouth one more time and then pulled away, pushing my face and tongue in his sweaty bush, just under his balls, my hands on his ass, pulling him closer to me. When I felt him begin to straighten up, I raised my head and looked up at him.
"You okay?" I asked, as he stumbled back a couple of feet, almost tripping on the jeans and briefs that had fallen almost to his ankles. He leaned against the closet door. His eyes were closed, but he was smiling.
"Nathan?" I said, picking the still damp rag off the floor, getting up and standing in front of him. He opened his eyes and looked directly into mine. I ran the rag lightly over his crotch and belly. He put his hand over mine and held it in place
"I think we got it all out," I said, smiling.
Suddenly, he smiled and I realized that I'd never seen him really smile before. He smiled widely; grinning with an even set of white teeth, and shook his head.
I leaned in to kiss him, but he moved his head to the side and slightly down and I felt him licking my shoulder and chest where he'd cum on them. When he finished, I felt his hands move around my waist, drawing me closer. With his eyes open, looking directly into mine, his mouth parted and we began to kiss again, his wet mouth tasting warm and salty.
It wasn't a liplock like it had been earlier. It was less insistent, more assured; like he suddenly knew he could have what he wanted and wouldn't be sent away for asking.
His hands came to rest on my toolbelt, his thumbs just under the waist of my jeans. I let my calloused hands cup his ass, squeezing and kneading the cheeks softly. Resting his head in the crook of my shoulder, kissing my neck, he coughed a little and said, "What about you?"
I smiled into his neck and tightened my hold on his butt.
"Well," I said, "I can always handle some good head, but I really want to..." I gripped his cheeks firmly, spreading them a little, letting my forefingers move up between them.
Nathan stiffened in my arms and started to pull away, but I had him pinned to the door. I pulled him closer and loosened my grip on his butt. "It's okay, buddy. If you don't want to, we don't have to. Remember what I said? We'll stop any time you say so and I'll never hurt you."
He kissed me again on the neck and talked into my shoulder. "I just don't think I could handle it, Blake."
"S'okay," I said, feeling his hands move to the middle of my waist and fidgeting with the buckle on my toolbelt. He kept kissing me and then started licking my neck, but couldn't undo the buckle. He finally pulled away in frustration and looking down, undid it.
The belt fell to the floor with a loud thunk! and he smiled.
I took a step back and let him unbutton my jeans and tug the zipper down. He tugged down the jeans roughly and looked at my crotch. My cock was hard and straining against my briefs. There was a large damp stain to the side where it'd been held in place by my jeans, but now the top of it was peeking over the waistband of my briefs and pumping one sticky drop of precum after another.
Nathan put his hands inside my briefs and pulled them down. I found myself watching him watching me. My cock sprang out hard and he took it firmly in his hand and squeezed it. He cupped my balls in his other hand and squeezed them roughly. I pulled back a little.
"Easy, pal. They're not going anywhere."
"Sorry," he said, releasing my balls, but moving his hand slowly up and down my cock. I put my hand behind his head and began rubbing his short hair. His hand didn't break stride and I knew that I wasn't going to be able to hold on forever. I leaned into him and said, "Just needs a little spit, man" and nudged his head down, taking another step back. He got the message and dropped to his knees. He kept stroking it, kneeling in front of it, but holding his head back at an angle like he was trying to figure out what it was going to do next.
I pushed his head toward my cock, but felt him stiffen up.
"Go ahead, Nathan. You don't have to take the whole thing right away. Just lick the tip."
His pink tongue darted out and licked away the precum. I kept my hand firmly but gently on the back of his head, urging him on without trying to push him. He closed his eyes and took the tip of my cock in his mouth, moving his lips back and forth across the head, like he was sucking on a lollipop. I groaned.
"That's right. That's good, Nathan. That is so good." I said, the fingers of my hand on the back of his head flexing and pushing him a little further. He opened his eyes and pulled his head away for a moment and looked at my face and then at my cock like he was trying to figure something out.
I kept stroking his head, hoping that he'd make up his mind sooner rather than later. He took my cock between his thumb and his forefinger, opened his mouth into a perfect "O" and, closing his eyes again, swallowed as much as he could. I looked down at him and saw his eyes starting to tear up and pulled back a little. But he held my cock firmly and tried to take it all again.
I felt my hips starting to thrust forward, pushing my cock deeper into his mouth. I didn't want to gag him -- and I didn't need any sudden glances against those beautiful white teeth -- but he held on and leaned his head in closer. I felt my balls start to pull up and knew I was going to shoot a load.
I felt him let go of my cock and put his hands on the back of my thighs, pressing me into his face. I looked down at him, wondering at the sight of my cock in his mouth, and caught him looking up at me. Our glances held each other for a moment, and then he closed his eyes again.
I couldn't hold back any longer and felt my cock begin to pump a load into his mouth. He pulled back suddenly against my hand, but I didn't try to hold him in place. I shot a load on his face and he suddenly took my cock in his mouth again, not deeply, but enough to catch the rest of my load. I closed my eyes and he began to move his mouth back and forth across my cock as I came, pulling away only long enough to catch his breath and then going down on it again.
I felt my body jerk as I took the last drops and then sat back looking up at me, drops of my cum trailing down his cheek. He didn't try to wipe them away. His hands held my thick calves as though he were trying to balance me. I looked down at him and smiled.
"Was that okay?" he asked. I laughed out loud and pulled him up to his feet.
"That was fuckin' fantastic, dude," I said, kissing him. I let my hands move up and down his back, coming to rest holding the cheeks of his ass again. He held me tightly and then started to pull away.
"You sure it was alright?" he asked again. I leaned over slightly and licked my cum off his cheek and kissed his neck.
"I wouldn't lie, Nathan," I said, squeezing his ass. "But it makes me sure that I'd really like this some time soon."
" I'd really like this" I said, squeezing a little harder, "with you."
He stiffened again, but I held him tightly. "Stop worrying, man," I said. "I just said I'd like it, that's all."
We held each other for a long time. I noticed the afternoon shadows spilling across the floor and pulled up my briefs and jeans, and picked up my toolbelt. He reached down for his briefs and I noticed that small patch of hair again at the small of his back. I felt my cock quicken again, but picked up my T-shirt from the floor and tossed it to him.
"Wear this," I said, "I've got another one out in the truck."
He took the shirt and now I found myself watching his muscles move as he pulled it over his head, the slight stretch that showed his ribs. We went to the kitchen and wrung out his shirt and the thermal undershirt. Walking carefully down the sagging stairs of the front porch, I unlocked the truck and pulled another T-shirt from the back of the cab.
"You have a ride home?" I asked, pulling it on.
"Yeah," he said, "I'm parked down the street."
"Good enough," I said, smiling. "It's going to be a long job, but I think we can call it a day."
"Yeah," he said, smiling back.
I got in the cab of my truck and watched him in the mirror as he looked both ways, crossed the street, and began walking down the block. His walk was smoother now, more relaxed, and I couldn't help but notice that without that damn thermal shirt, his jeans hung a little lower on his waist. I could just barely see the top of his briefs with each step, and my hands could feel his ass against their calluses again.
End Part One