Fixing the Machine

Somewhere distant, a bell was ringing.

I yawned, rubbed my eyes…and then remembered what dad had said, “The dishwasher repair guy will be here tomorrow at 9 AM sharp, Caleb. Make sure you’re awake, because we’ll both be at work.”

A blast of panic! I bolted upright and knocked over the bedside clock. Shit, 9:10! What a crappy way to start my first day of winter break. An unexpected blizzard on the highway, a flat, engine overheating, and now this. Shit!

The front doorbell rang again. Ok, show him the fuckin’ dishwasher, eat breakfast, and hit the shower.

With a whoop, I ran downstairs, not bothering to put on a bathrobe. Luckily, I’d slept in my boxers, so I wasn’t entirely indecent.

I threw open the front door, just as he’s halfway to his truck. “Sorry, man,” I yelled, running a hand through my messy hair. “Slept late.”

“Glad somebody’s home,” he boomed, moving past me into the foyer. “I hate missed calls.”

“Yeah. My folks would’ve killed me if I’d forgotten your appointment. Drove home from college last night, and the road trip took three hours. That goddamned blizzard didn’t help, not to mention a blown-out tire. A real bitch, ya know? Christ. I’m still sleepy.”

“Maine weather can bite you on the ass. My kids do love the snow. No school, and they have a jump start on Christmas vacation.”

“Yeah, snow days are groovy so close to winter break.”

“Where’s your machine?”

“Right this way.” I led him into our kitchen. “There you go. Mom said a connection’s loose or something. Whatever, man. You’re the expert.”

“We’ll see what’s ailin’ this bad boy.” He put his tool bag by the sink, and that’s when I was able to check him out. About 40, short, compact, and rugged. Italian, probably. Or Armenian. His forearms were tanned, and his stache met two sideburns peppered with gray.

“I dig your facial hair, man. Wish I could grow me a beard. All I have is peach fuzz.”

“You’d get sick of it soon enough. I gotta shave twice a day. That’s a pain.”

“Still, I’d like the option, ya know? Tried cultivatin’ a beard once. Got nuthin’.”

He set out wrenches and several washers. “How old are you, if you don’t mind my askin’?”

“18 last October. Graduated young.”

“18 and over six feet. Jacked, too. Hell, I’m only 5 feet 9, drippin’ wet. You play hoop?”

“In high school, but not at BU. I’m a lazy prick. Don’t do nuthin’ except party, go to classes occasionally, and lift.”

“Figured on the gym. I’ve been pumpin’ iron for years, ever since freshman football. Otherwise, at my age, I’d be fallin’ apart.”

“Yeah, I relate.”

“Somehow I doubt it, not at 18. Psst! Don’t look now, buddy, but your barn door’s open.”

“Huh? Whoops!” My boner was stickin’ out of my boxers. “Gee, sorry, man. Mornin’ wood. This is hella embarrassin’.” I quickly closed the flap.

“Eh, don’t worry about it. You’d be surprised at what I see on these early calls. At least you ain’t a half-naked housewife slouchin’ around. I’ve seen enough saggy boobs to last me a lifetime.”

“Haha! Ever take advantage of the situation?”

“Nah. But I tell ya, kid, if I had a monster dick like yours, who knows? I might take advantage, yeah.”

“Hope I didn’t shock you. Apologies if I did.”

“Nuthin’ shocks me anymore. My motto is, you got it, flaunt it, and kid, you definitely got it. Much respect.”

“Thanks. Uh, how old are you, if you don’t mind myasking.”

“49, next month. And I weigh the same as I did when I graduated high school. 200 on the dot, with abs.”

“Shit, bro, 49? And with abs? Cripes, I thought you were 40, tops. You’re in mind-blowing shape for a dude kissin’ 50.”

“Thanks. People are always gawkin’ at me at the gym. I’m like Sasquatch. Hairy to the max.”

“Fuckin’ primo. What I wouldn’t give for a hairy chest. My legs and armpits are bare. I shave my pubes, to even everything out.”

“I’m the exact opposite. Tried shavin’ once, about 20 years ago. Was murder growin’ back. Itched like a mofo.”

“Haha, I’ll bet! Dude, I so envy guys like you. A real man’s supposed to have fur.”

“Me, I prefer smooth and hairless. Better to see all the development, like that 6-pack you’re sportin’. Serious beef there, bub.”

“Ya think? Always room for improvement. My goal is to gain 10 more pounds by summer and hit 230. A killer tan, and I’ll be stylin’.”

“And you’re not puny in the salami department, either.”

“Just south of 9, believe it or not. My middle school soccer teammates actually called me Moose. The nickname stuck.”

He guffawed. “Oh, I believe it. Hey. I’m Jerry.”

“Caleb, aka Moose. Glad to meetcha.”

We shook hands, and my dick popped out again. What the hell, it didn’t matter. Jerry wolf-whistled. “Talk about weapons of mass destruction! You hidin’ a matchin’ pair of mooseballs in there, too?”

“Sure am, amigo. Low-hangers. Check it.” I dropped my shorts and tossed them into the sink.

“Nice.” Our eyes met, and something told me Jerry was up for just about anything. “Uh…you the only one home?” he asked, tentatively.

“Just us, my man. Just you and me and the fuckin’ dishwasher.”

“Sweet.”

“You want sweet? Try this on for size.” I bent over and spread my ass. “Cleaned and prepped for take-off. Not braggin’ or nuthin’, but I’m a catcher who rarely misses a pitch.”

Jerry scratched the stubble on his cheek and nodded. “Whoa. You should see mine. Hairy as a bear.”

“Cool. I wouldn’t mind seein’ that.”

“Heh. No kiddin’?”

“Damned straight.”

“This is kinda crazy.”

“Yeah, fun crazy.”

“Okay, kid, but I gotta warn ya, I’m hard as a baseball bat, right now.”

“Welcome to the club, bub. I’d be disappointed if you weren’t.”

“Let’s start with this.” He unzipped his fly and pulled out an impressive 7-inch slab of pepperoni, rising to salute the troops. “Whadaya say. Big enough tool to get the job done?”

“None too shabby. Now, how about that hairy ass?”

Laughing devilishly, Jerry turned, bent over, spread ‘em and gave me full view. My balls churned. This guy had it all.

“Dude, you are un-fucking-real.”

“Ain’t had no complaints. I should probably strip down, for the total picture.” He kicked off his work boots, and in a second, I was staring at the most gorgeous hunk of man I’d ever seen.

“Fuckin’ love your chest, Jer. Great pecs. Great shoulders, too.”

“Thanks. You know what?”

“What.”

“Too bad I gotta work on this machine,” he said, flexing a bicep. “Otherwise, you and me could, maybe we might even…”

“Fuck?” The word hung above us.

“If I ain’t presumin’.” He traced a finger around the head of my engorged cock. “Don’t wanna get caught or nuthin’, but I’m horny as hell and wouldn’t mind gettin’ it on.”

“Hey, man, the folks are at work until five. That gives us a coupla hours. Enough time to screw our fuckin’ brains out.”

“Hell, yeah. C’mon, Moose, let’s get our groove on,” and then we were goin’ at it like ravenous wolves. I pulled him onto me, feeling that hard body against mine, the brush of his chest hair, legs automatically intertwining…as if we’d done this a hundred times, not just once.

“Man, my bed’s way more comfortable than the kitchen table,” I laughed. “We can use motion lotion, too.”

“Well, what the fuck are we waitin’ for, Moose? Let’s do this right! Where’s your room?”

“Follow me, dude. Last one upstairs eats the other one out.”

“Either way, I win! Ready, set, go!”

We raced to my room. In the hallway, Jerry grabbed me by the hair, and our lips locked. His mouth tasted sweet and minty, like he’d just eaten a Tic-Tac. “Oh, yeah,” I grunted, leaning against the wall. “Keep pushin’ it, stud, and I’ll reward you with a healthy jizz facial, free of charge.”

“I’ll take whatever load you can pump out. Try me.”

“There’s the bed. Make yourself at home, big guy. Won’t be more than a second, so keep that johnson ready for action!”

“No problem there, Moose. Just get your ass in gear.”

I retrieved the Vaseline and galloped back, sliding the last few feet. Jerry was stretched out on my bed, leaning on one muscular arm. “Dive in, the water’s fine.”

“Think you can handle me?”

“Moosie, I’m gonna drain you fuckin’ dry.”

“Sounds like a threat.”

“Bitch, it’s a promise. C’mere and let me tongue-fuck your hole. Time for a home run.”

He knew his stuff, but so did I, and I was gonna fry every fuse that motherfucker had. When we twisted into a wild 69, it practically set off the smoke detectors.

“Lube my ass, kid, and use two fingers, third knuckle,” Jerry ordered.

“How’s this feel?” I fingered him, flicking in and out, a neat move I’d learned from watching porn.

“Ohhhh, yeahhhh. Let me fix you up.” He sucked my hog, then used Vaseline to get me slick. I fingered him deeper…deeper…

Bingo! Jerry gasped, and I knew nuthin’ was gonna stop us. I’ve had phenomenal guys, but this hunk was the ideal combination of muscle and old school masculinity.

He straddled my chest; I massaged his abs, his armor-plated pecs and dark mat of hair. What a fuckin’ turn-on! I’m usually composed in situations where I’m the star attraction, but I gotta admit, Jerry was callin’ these plays.

The bed creaked under our combined weight, the air thick with man musk. He lowered himself onto my pulsating piston, and I helped guide it home, moving upward, inch by agonizing inch. Before long, our two worlds collided.

Time to party!

Jer winked at me. “I’m gonna ride you like a goddamned bronco, so expect it rough,” he whispered, pinching my nipples. “You won’t have a drop of cum left in them mooseballs when I’m done.”

“Challenge accepted.”

We began fucking and found our rhythm. I rammed it home, again and again, a relentless barrage. He met every thrust, move for sweaty move, a true power bottom.

“You almost at the tipping point?” I grunted, goin’ deep.

“Oh, yeah, baby, only do it slower.”

“Fuckin’ awesome. It’s like I’m poppin’ your cherry.”

“How’s this for poppin’?”

He clenched his sphincter, and that was it. Fireworks went off behind my eyelids, spectacular colors of green and red and blue, edged in fire.

“Dude, dude, dude,” I kept mindlessly repeating. “You’re torturin’ me! Holy fuck, Jer, this is so fuckin’ intense! Damn! Get ready, get fuckin’ ready, muthafuckah!”

“Dump that load!” he snarled. “Slap them moose balls against my ass! Breed me like a fuckin’ slut!”

I pushed with everything I had, and Jerry pulled me even further inside. That was it, the winning hand. My nutsack constricted and let loose with a voluminous wave of rushing, pulsing love cream.

“Aaaargh! You’re the best, Jerry. Oh, God…uh, uh, uh…fuckin’ sweeeeet! Yeahhhhh, baby! I’m gonna…I’m gonna cuummm!”

Ka-pow!

The orgasm lasted over a full five excruciating minutes, I’m not shitting you. Usually when I unleash, it’s history in a matter of seconds, but not with Jerry. He was one outstanding piece of ass.

I was literally exhausted, but Jerry wanted more. He slid off my love pole and deep-throated that fucker, keeping me hard. It triggered a spark and fueled the fire…commence round two!

“You didn’t get off,” I said, surprised by the huskiness of my voice. “I gotta return the favor. Fair is fair.”

His smile widened. “Feel like blowin’ a few good tunes?”

Exactly what I’d been thinking. We faced each other on the bed--two opponents squaring off in a death match decided by pure lust. Our dicks were standing at attention, crossed swords, warrior against warrior.

“Fuck, yeah, Jer. I’m gonna make you shoot like a fuckin’ fire extinguisher.”

“Big talk. Stop flappin’ your lips and eat me raw.”

No encouragement necessary. I buried my face in his balls, cock and ass crack. Rimming is my specialty, formed by practice into an art, and Jerry responded like a connoisseur. I had him just where I wanted him; Caleb’s rules, Caleb’s arena.

It’s funny how we’re all basically built alike; we’re born with the same equipment…but guys like Jerry, mature, seasoned, obviously experienced, are exceptional. The overall package is simply breath-taking.

As I worshipped at the altar of his alpha-maleness, our psyches collided, melded and became one. He tousled my hair and bucked his hips, chest heaving.

“Uh, uh, aaahhhhhh, keep suckin’ that meat! Yeah, Moose, yeah, yeah. Don’t stop, baby. Ah…ahhhh. Almost there…! Almost fuckin’ there!”

If I’d had a thermometer and touched it to his junk, the mercury would’ve read “hot and steamy!”

One finger up Jerry’s load-drenched ass was like nuclear fission, and I steadied myself for the inevitable flood. Building…building…

“Oh, fuck, you’re killin’ me! Open wide, Moose, cause here I fuckin’ CUM!!!” and an ocean of man-spunk filled my gullet, washing over my tongue and down my throat. It reminded me of those nights spent camping out in the woods, when I sucked off my two cousins and made them bellow like bulls.

Once every salty drop had been savored, I crawled along Jerry’s magnificently hairy body, stopping at his chest, his biceps and his neck, ending with a passionate soul kiss.

“Ain’t happenin’,” he said, grabbing my chin. “This can’t be a one-time thing. Tell me it ain’t, Moose. You gotta.”

Yes, indeedy, we had ourselves a dilemma, no doubt. I didn’t want it to end, either, but practicality told me he’d have to repair the dishwasher, and we’d go on with our respective lives--him to his wife and kids and me to college and whatever adventures waited there.

“Jer, listen. You’re the hottest fuck I’ve ever had, bar none. But how can we make this work, long term?”

His expressive brown eyes bore into mine. “How about every time you’re home, we get it on? I’m local, and it would be a cinch to rent a motel room. Think of the summers! Beaches and sandpaper fucks and nights drinkin’ beers and suckin’ dick under the stars. That’s my idea of heaven. Ain’t it yours?”

“Awright, you convinced me. We’ll live the dream. Let’s swap spit to seal it.”

When I glanced up at my bedside clock again, it was 12:34. We’d been goin’ at it for over three fuckin’ hours!

“Well, I’d better tend to that machine,” Jerry sighed, sitting up. “Time is money.”

“Forget the repair job. Fix me. My pipe is leakin’.”

“Jesus, you’re a horny prick! I have five afternoon stops, Moose. It’s gonna be a long day.”

“What about the jizz in your chest hair?”

“I fuckin’ love it. It’s stayin’.”

“The wife won’t notice?”

“Nah, she ain’t even home. Gone to visit her mother and took the kids.”

“What? You mean to tell me you’ve got the whole fuckin’ house to yourself?”

It suddenly dawned on Jerry. “What was I thinkin’? They’re gonna be gone for three days!”

“Dude! Shit, I know where I’m bunkin’ tonight.”

“Hell, yeah. Better save up your load!”

So, our pact continued. Jerry and I have been meeting for years, and each new session tops the one before. He’s taught me life’s important lessons: the depth of a man’s soul, his capacity for love and affection, and most importantly, how to navigate a sexual journey that’s beyond description and apparently never-ending.

Moral of my story? When your dishwasher is on the fritz, call in a professional. You won’t regret it!