Just a few miles north of Havana, the one in Florida, not the city on the island to the south and before you cross the Georgia state line and enter the little town of Calvary, although you'll find no salvation there, there lives a man. He is tucked away on a quiet country road, away from the prying eyes of neighbors, his closest one, five miles away. I met Bob in the regular way, he called me, he was in need of an estimate on the cost of re-roofing his house; he knew he could not do it. A roof service call, something that happens every day across America, although I am not sure one is greeted, the same way I was.

My company is small, a mom and pop, minus the mom, consisting of me and two other guys, men that I have known and trusted for many years. We needed the work and I was hoping my estimate would get us this job.

The road to Bob's house is canopied with many low hanging oak trees; I knew that a semi-truck would not be able to make it, so pick-ups were going to be used to haul the supplies, if we got this contract. The county has laws on the books concerning canopy roads, they are sacred to the feel of the area and none of the trees is to be damaged unless it is an act of God or someone could face some hefty fines. That would be another added expense to the estimation, were it to happen, I am afraid this job is slipping away even before I see the house.

The day is hot, this is the South, and every summer day is hot. The humidity could kill you they say, it could take the breathe right out of you as it clutches your lungs and squeezes the last gasps of air from your tired worn body. I am accustomed to it, it is all I know.

As I rounded the bend in the road, I saw the house. It is a modest red brick late seventies ranch-style house, a common occurrence in these parts. It would be a simple job barring no major damage.

He told me on the phone to honk my horn as I approached.

I did.

Bob came out of the house, hastily pulling on a pair a shorts, he was not expecting me so soon, I assume. In the process of buttoning, a pair of short cut-off frayed faded jeans, not in any rush; I saw his cock-hairs, when I turned into the driveway. He looked to be in his mid-forties, ten years older than me in my guesstimation. He was shirtless, not that I blamed him. As I said, the day is hot; this particular one is a scorcher. I waved and he returned the favor likewise.

We shook hands before I even opened the door and got out of the truck.

"You are Mr. Robert Warren," I said, trying to be formal and professional, I really needed this job.

"My friends call me, Bob," he says.

"Bob, it's a pleasure to meet you let's get you that estimate," I said, "By the way, I am Dave Stevens, but you know that. You called me."

I laughed nervously. Maybe I just need to relax or maybe the heat is getting to me.

We make our way from the driveway to the side of the house and resume our conversation. I have my clipboard in hand making notes and such as, we walk and talk.

"So that's your roof," I ask. Kinda dumb to state the obvious but I say it anyway.

"Yes, it is, it is not sloped to bad and from what I can tell, there is no damage or leaks but it is old, " he says, "since I have had the house, I have never replaced it."

As Bob walked around, I noticed that his shorts were unzipped, the fly, wide-open, he did not seem bothered by it, his pubes peeked through the opening, visible for me to see but he did not seem fazed, I think I even glanced at his dick during one point in the conversation. He never left my side as I inspected the roof from the ground before I got up on it to do a closer look.

He had a habit of fondling of himself as we walked. I understand that, adjusting one's equipment is important, your balls and cock get caught on your jeans or your underwear or your balls sweat and get stuck, it happens. Sometimes adjusting is necessary, also, you just want to touch the manhood between your legs, I understand. I gave myself a feel I was sweating too. I was freeballing but I was in jeans, work boots, a button-down shirt and a baseball cap, he was nearly naked. I was sweating like a scared pig going to slaughter.

"It hot as a motherfucker out here," Bob says.

This caught me off guard but I am no church saint myself, I was just trying to maintain some professionalism, any other time I would be swearing like a sailor.

I nodded my head.

"Yes, it is but this is a Florida," I replied.

"Dave, I must confess, I go naked out here in the woods, I am usually by myself and I enjoy my freedom, " Bob says, "I hope my cock playing did not bother you but I hate clothes."

I breathed a sigh of relief, I was afraid it was something else, I thought to myself.

"Oh, I understand, "I said, "if I could, I would be naked at home but the wife has a problem with me even walking around in my tighty-whiteys."

"I understand that, my wife had the same problem but she left years ago, " he laughed as he said this. I caught myself laughing a little too.

We walked around some more, the uneasiness that had been there was gone. I had relaxed.

Now I had to get on the roof.

"Well, let me get my ladder off my truck and I'll inspect that roof, "I said.

"I have one in the back by my shed near the pool, you are welcome to use," he offered.

"Sure, if you do not mind, " I replied.

"No, not a bother at all," he said, "you are drenched in sweat Dave, why don't you take that shirt off, I will not mind. We are both men here."

"Thanks," I said.

He went and got the ladder as I stripped off my shirt.

It felt good to have that thing off; it was soaked. I snapped the buttons down happily, the fresh air felt good on my sweat soaked chest. I hung it on a bush as I shimmied up the ladder that Bob had placed on the side of the house. He held it for me as I made my way onto the roof.

"There is no need to hang around the ladder Bob, I will be up here a while getting rough measurements, "I shouted down to him, "go about your business as if I am not here."

"Sure thing, "he said and disappeared.

I admit, Bob has a nice secluded piece of land. A pool in the backyard, which seems mighty inviting on a scorcher like today, I could go for a dip myself. A few outbuildings, one even looks like it has weights and gym equipment in it.

I start my measurements at the front of the house.

I hear a splash; Bob has obviously decided to go for a swim. I do not blame him.

Eventually, I made my way to the back and get those measurements too, I am drenched to the bone, my jeans are chaffing me at my every move. I unbutton them and let my pubes breathe and then let my zipper slide down just a bit.

It is not going to be a bad job, relatively simple.

I see Bob as he swims in the pool, I am envious. I could go for a dip myself.

Is he naked? I think to myself.

I make my way to the ladder, wanting and needing to get down; the heat from the roof was unbearable. Bob jumps out of the pool, bare-assed, he is naked, and comes running to hold it steady for me. I did not expect that but he did say he stays naked out here. It is not as if I have not seen naked men before, I see them when I workout at the gym in Havana, in the locker-room, I saw them in college and high school when I played football.

I make my way down, careful not to fall as my hands and body are wet from the sweat and it compromises my grip. I touch the ground and turn to see Bob in all his glory.

"Dave, sorry man but I had to take a swim, "he says, "I hope you are not offended, I see you got hot up there on the roof, yourself."

I think he noticed that my jeans are unbuttoned and unzipped; I look down to see my pubes peeking through the opening, the zipper had gone all the way down and my jeans were starting to fall off too. I had forgotten to snap and zip them up before I came down.

"Naw, "I say, "Its okay, the pool does look good."

"It is, you wanna take a swim, " he asks.

I ponder for a moment, only for a moment.

"Yeah, a swim would be nice."

We make our way over to the pool.

Me, barely able to hold my falling pants as I walk.

I am trying desperately not to trip over them, while holding my clipboard as I make my way to the chairs by the pool.

I am failing miserably.

I can feel the warm Florida air blow over my pubes because as I begin to sit, the jeans fall to my ankles in a crumpled mass. I plop my naked ass down on a lounge chair and proceed to remove them. Bob looks over at me, smiles, then takes a dive in the pool and disappears underneath the water to re-emerge in the deep end. I take my boots and socks off then stand up and shimmy out of my sweat soaked jeans and throw my ball cap onto the heap. The air feels good on my pubes and my naked body.

I reach and fondle myself, freeing my cock from the wet confines of the sweaty pubes. I stiffen up a little, not to a full hard-on but I am noticeable.

"Feel better, "I hear from the pool.

I had forgotten about Bob. I was just happy to be out of those clothes.

Here I am, naked and semi-hard at a client's house.

"Yeah, I do," I answer.

This was a first for me. Maybe I had not blown the job because of this little stunt.

What the hell, I thought to myself and dove into the pool.

I will deal with it.

It is hot.



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