I bought this fixer-upper house outside the city because it was dirt cheap and I figured I could turn it into something special. The place needed work from the day I signed the papers. Peeling paint on the trim, creaky hardwood floors that groaned under every step, and a kitchen that looked like it had not been updated since the nineties. Repairs popped up constantly, but I did not mind. Not one bit.
I am Rafael, 28 years old and openly gay. Most guys my age chase hookups on apps, but I kept calling the same six foot three married construction worker named Derek for every little job hoping something happens between us.
He was good at what he did. Fast, clean, and reliable. The first time he came out, he mentioned money was tight with a wife and a mortgage to pay. I liked that he needed the work. It made things easy. No need to explain the layout of the house or where the breaker box hid every single time a new guy showed up.
But if I am honest with myself, that was only part of why I kept calling the same man.
The real reason I kept dialing his number sat lower. Way lower. Derek wore the same pair of faded blue work jeans on every job. They hugged his massive thighs like they had been painted on and made his fat, round ass look sexy as fuck. The kind of ass that stretched the denim so tight the seams looked ready to split when he bent over. On hot days, he showed up in sleeveless flannel shirts, unbuttoned low enough to show the thick hair across his chest and the dark, musky pits that glistened with sweat every time he reached for a tool. I loved watching him work. The way his broad back flexed. The way sweat ran down the groove of his spine and soaked into the fabric. The way his tool belt rode low on his hips, drawing my eyes right where they should not go.
So here I was, in the middle of a brutal heatwave and the air conditioning unit had finally given up. The house turned into an oven overnight. I woke up sticky with sweat, sheets tangled around my legs, already half hard from scrolling through some ridiculous porn the night before. I grabbed my phone and texted him.
"AC died again. You free today?"
His reply came back in under two minutes.
"Yeah, I’m free. Ten a.m.?"
I grinned at the screen, heart kicking up a notch.
“Perfect.”
I jumped in the shower, letting the cool water run over my skin. I am lean from weekend gym sessions. Smooth chest, defined abs, dark hair that falls messy when it is wet. My cock thickened while I soaped up, not from the water but from the ridiculous thoughts running through my head. Some ripped guy I had seen online earlier that morning. Then the image shifted. Suddenly it was Derek instead. Those thick arms. That fat ass in tight jeans. I stroked myself once, slow, then stopped. No point finishing now. I wanted to stay on edge.
I stepped out, water still beading on my chest and shoulders. A white towel slung low on my hips, barely covering the important parts. The V lines at my hips showed clearly. The soft bulge of my cock pressed against the thin fabric. I checked myself in the mirror, ran a hand through my wet hair, and smirked. The citrus scent of my body wash clung to my skin, fresh and clean.
Exactly at ten the knock came.
I walked to the door still wearing nothing but that towel and opened it.
Derek filled the doorway like a goddamn wall. Six foot three of solid construction muscle. Broad shoulders stretched the sleeveless plaid flannel he wore, the fabric already damp with early morning sweat. His thick arms looked even bigger up close, veins standing out from the drive over. Stubble shadowed his strong jaw even though it was only ten in the morning. Faded blue work jeans clung to his powerful thighs and that fat, round ass I could not stop thinking about. His tool belt hung low, the weight pulling the waistband down just enough to show a strip of skin and the top of dark straight boy underwear.
His eyes flicked down immediately. Straight to the obvious bulge under my thin white towel. He stared for a long second. Longer than any straight guy should. My cock twitched visibly beneath the fabric, thickening a little more under his gaze. I felt the heat rise in my face, but I did not move to cover up.
Derek cleared his throat. His ears turned pink.
"Uh. AC, right?"
His voice came out rough and deep, that straight guy gravel that always went straight between my legs.
"Yeah," I said, stepping aside. "Come on in. It died sometime last night. House feels like a sauna."
I let him pass. As I turned to close the door the towel rode even lower on my hips. The top of my ass showed clearly. I caught him glance back once before he looked away fast. I smiled to myself and led him through the living room toward the utility closet where the AC unit sat.
The house already felt hotter with him inside it. Derek set his toolbox down with a heavy thunk. He rolled his shoulders, the sleeveless flannel pulling tight across his wide back. Dark hair peeked from the open buttons at his chest. I could smell him already. Clean sweat mixed with whatever cheap deodorant he used and a faint hint of motor oil from the truck.
"Should not take too long," he said, crouching to open the toolbox. "These older units act up in this kind of heat."
I stayed close. "Need any help? I can hand you tools or whatever."
He nodded without looking up. "Sure. Grab me the Phillips head when I ask."
While he worked I hovered. Every time he reached up or bent over the unit I moved in tighter. My citrus body wash scent mixed with his natural smell. I wondered if straight guys even noticed things like that. Probably not. But I stayed right there anyway, close enough that my bare arm brushed his once or twice. Close enough to watch the sweat start to bead on the back of his neck and trickle down.
Derek worked methodically. He pulled the front panel off the unit and started checking connections. Every time he bent forward that fat ass stretched the blue jeans to the absolute limit. The denim pulled so tight across his cheeks I could see the outline of his underwear underneath. The seam rode right up the middle, splitting those heavy cheeks. His thighs flexed thick and powerful as he shifted his weight. Sweat darkened the back of his sleeveless flannel, a long wet stripe running down his spine.
I handed him tools when he asked, my eyes never leaving his body. When he reached overhead to loosen something his arm lifted high and I got a clear view of his hairy armpit. Dark, thick hair matted with sweat. The musky scent hit me stronger now. Manly and raw. My cock stirred again under the towel, pushing out more noticeably.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and kept going. Another bend. Another perfect view of that fat ass. The jeans looked painted on, every curve and dip on display. I imagined sliding my hands over that denim, feeling the heat of him through the fabric, squeezing those cheeks while he pretended not to notice.
The minutes stretched. Cold air finally started blowing from the vents as the unit kicked back on. Derek straightened up, breathing a little heavier from the effort. He wiped his forehead again, this time with his forearm. The motion lifted his arm high and both hairy armpits came into full view. Sweat glistened in the dark hair. His sleeveless flannel rode up at the same time, exposing a thick, dark treasure trail that started just above his navel and disappeared straight under his belt buckle. The line of hair looked coarse and inviting. My mouth went dry.
His eyes dropped to my towel again. This time he did not look away fast. His gaze lingered on the clear outline of my cock, now half hard and tenting the white fabric. I felt it throb under his stare.
"Looks good," I said, voice low and rough. I meant the AC, but my eyes were on him. On those thick arms, that sweaty chest, that fat ass still flexed from all the crouching.
He swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed. "Yeah. Should hold."
Derek stepped down from the small stool he had been using. He was close now. Really close. I could feel the heat coming off his body. Sweat darkened the front of his flannel too, right between his pecs where the hair showed.
I reached for the cash I had set aside on the counter. Counted out the bills slowly, deliberately. When I handed them over our fingers brushed. His palm felt rough and calloused from years of real work. Warm. The contact lasted a second longer than it needed to. Electricity shot up my arm.
"Thanks, Derek," I said softly.
"No problem, Rafael." He used my name. His voice sounded a little thicker than before.
He gathered his tools, muscles flexing as he lifted the heavy box. I followed him to the door, towel still slung dangerously low. From the front step, he glanced back once more. His eyes flicked down to my hips, to the bulge that had not gone down at all, then up to my face. He did not say anything. Just gave a short nod and walked to his truck.
I watched him until the truck disappeared down the long driveway. Only then did I let the towel drop to the floor.
My cock sprang up, fully hard now, leaking at the tip. I wrapped my hand around it and stroked once, slow. The image of Derek's fat ass stretching those jeans flashed behind my eyes. Those hairy armpits glistening with sweat. The way his eyes had lingered on my bulge. The rough feel of his calloused palm against mine.
I did not last long the first time. I came hard standing in the living room, moaning quietly as ropes of cum hit the floor. The second time came later that night. I lay on my bed, stroking slow and deliberate, edging myself while I replayed every detail. The treasure trail. The way his jeans cupped his ass. The pink flush on his ears when he caught himself staring.
I pictured him at home later, maybe in the shower himself, trying to forget what he had seen. Or maybe not forgetting at all.
By the time I finally let myself finish again the sheets were damp with cum. I lay there breathing hard, staring at the ceiling with a satisfied grin.
He would be back. They always came back after that first lingering look.
And next time… I might not bother with the towel at all.
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